


Come on, come on, kiss my battery

by Delphinapterus



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album)
Genre: Bandits & Outlaws, Dystopia, Hand Jobs, Heist, M/M, Motorcycles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-19
Updated: 2010-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-13 18:47:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/140501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delphinapterus/pseuds/Delphinapterus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jet Star and the Kobra Kid do what they do best.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come on, come on, kiss my battery

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CheshirePrime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheshirePrime/gifts).



> Thanks to my betas Bliumchik and Piscaria. Any mistakes are mine since I tweaked it afterwards.  
> Title is from F.T.W.W.W. by The Mad Gear And Missile Kid.

BLI transports are long, low lumbering tugs that anyone can see from miles off in the open desert. They have crew of three (two drivers, who trade off so the tug never stops, and a Drac defender), but everyone know that the tugs rely on their heavy armoring. It takes a minimum of four Zone Runners to successfully catch a tug. Show Pony says he heard a guy in Zone 12 did it with three, but Jet Star has never heard of him. Kobra hasn't either and Kobra knows almost as many Zone Runners and Wave Heads as there are motorbabies tuning in to Dr. Death's ever-changing frequencies. Sometimes Kobra smiles small and sharp when Show and Jet argue over if the guy in 12 could have done it, and he tells them how he'd do it. Sometimes Jet almost wants to try it because Kobra makes him believe. But they're the Killjoys - the four of them when they gather together - so in the end, Jet knows they'll never try Kobra's plan. Still he wonders about it when he's sitting watch with the fire at his back and listening to Kobra and the others stripping the take from a tug.

***

It has been hours since Fun Ghoul and Party Poison drove east into the rising red dawn, leaving the two of them alone. It reminds Jet of how it was before Kobra brought him in and made him a true Killjoy. He leans back against the wall and quietly picks out a melody on his guitar. Instruments are rare in the Zones, but Kobra, obviously remembering the one time Jet had mentioned it was one of the few things he really missed about living in Battery City, had gotten it for him. He doesn't know how Kobra got it, probably the same way he knows how to find sharp sticks and plasma, and he'll never ask; the code of the zones would stop him even if old manners of never questioning a gift didn't. He switches into the tune of the latest song from The Mad Gear And Missile Kid, even though it's an acoustic, knowing that Kobra will like it. He stays bent over his work, but Kobra rewards him by making a quiet pleased noise.

The radio crackles and Jet quickly mutes the guitar's strings. The radio is tuned in just a slip of the dial to the side of the frequency Dr. Death is on, but this one brings no music — only news about potential pickings moving through the zones. Kobra doesn't look up from the ray gun that he has disassembled over one of the diner tables, but Jet can see his head tilt slightly -- the only sign he's paying attention. Jet lays his guitar carefully into its case as he listens. If the broadcast brings them a lizard ripe for the taking, then Jet wants to be ready to move.

A BLI courier running all red-red killer-like has burned through Zone 4 leaving scorch and dusted Junkpunks in its wake. It's on Route Guano and moving fast for Battery City. By the time the transmission is finished, Kobra has the ray gun snapped back together and humming its ready status.

"Wanna go FYW on them?" Kobra asks, but they both know it isn't really a question. He's already walking outside before Jet can answer.

Jet Star slides an extra power pack inside his jacket and pats his pockets to double check that he still has batteries in them before he steps into the harsh sun. Kobra's bike is stark white. It looks like it could have rolled out of a BLI factory only days ago. In the Zones, you paint your ride, make it yours until any trace of BLI is burned away from it, but Kobra won't let a spot of color touch the bike. On the outside, it's a complete Drac's bike, but Jet has watched Kobra and Ghoul working on it in the shade thrown by the Diner, with their bandanas pushing their hair off their faces and grease on their fingers, long enough to know that under the white armor it's so much more than just a Drac's bike. Kobra's scarlet jacket and yellow helmet look shockingly out of place compared to the clean white of the bike, and Jet knows that the yellow lightning bolt on his own grey helmet looks just as out of place. He climbs behind Kobra just like he's done a hundred, maybe a thousand, times before. He curls his arms around Kobra's waist and leans forward just a touch.

Kobra touches his gloved hand to Jet Star's where it rests against Kobra's belly. Jet can feel Kobra's body move as he breaths out and he twists his hand so he can press his palm against Kobra's for a heartbeat. Kobra returns the pressure just for a second. Their silent signal that they're both all polka dottie.

***

BLI courier transports are low slung like the transport tugs, but they're built for speed with curves where the tugs have angles and only light armoring. Couriers carry a personal weapon but none of the heavy canons that are mounted on the tugs. Instead they rely on their Drac outriders to protect them. Jet can see the courier before he sees the outriders. There are four of them. That's unexpected. He's never heard of a courier traveling with more than two before but just in front of them he can see the Dracs surrounding the courier. He taps his hand against the front of Kobra's jacket and he sees the shine of the sun moving over the helmet's polish as Kobra nods his head. Jet lets his fingers tap out the message that Kobra will hear clearer than if he'd tried to shout over the rush of the wind and muffling of their helmets.

 _4 dracs. Abort?_

Kobra shakes his head.

 _4 against 2?_

Kobra lifts one hand. His fingers twist and curl as they he replies. _Us. Them. Even match. Not too many. We go._

 _Yes_

***

Jet Star exhales and squeezes the trigger. Ray guns don't kick like the old projectile ones and it's times like now, when he's balanced behind Kobra, that he's an extra bit grateful for it. The Drac goes down, bike falling and skidding across the pavement. The group speeds up, but one Drac drops back, pulling his bike in a wide arc across the road. The Dracs trailing the courier are firing blindly behind them. It's a typical Drac tactic to be unconcerned about the possibility of hitting one of their own when there is the chance they might get lucky enough to hit an adversary. Kobra has to swerve to avoid their shots, even as Jet is trying to fix on the Drac who has stopped in the middle of the road.

Jet thumbs the switch at the base of the ray gun that flips it to auto, and squeezes the trigger. Kobra is running an S-curve path toward the Drac waiting for them, and Jet leans into the curves, letting Kobra's body direct him, even as he's sweeping the area in front of them with a continuous blast from the ray gun. He feels the heat from one of the Drac's shots as it passes too close to his leg for comfort. Kobra swings them wide of the Drac's left side and Jet sees the gun's indicator flashing _low charge_. There's no time to slip in new batteries, not now as they're bearing down hard on the Drac who has gone into a standard targeting stance. Jet signals Kobra and braces as Kobra skids the bike sideways. They're vulnerable presenting such a large target area ,but he can't think about that when his only focus needs to be on the Drac. He tightens one arm around Kobra's waist and takes careful aim. The charge flashes out and he sees the black of the ray-burn bloom on the Drac's white suit before it crumples to the ground.

Kobra pulls the bike forward and thumbs the throttle. The pitch of the engine climbs upwards as they accelerate. The gun's power is spent and Jet flicks open the battery compartment. He doesn't bother catching the spent ones and they fall into the dust of the roadside as the bike zooms past. Getting the new set of batteries requires delicate movement so he doesn't jostle Kobra enough to over-balance the bike. Even though they've done it countless times before, Jet still holds his breath until he can snap the compartment closed again.

They close on the courier as the wind picks up, blowing sand across the road and making the filters on their helmets work harder. Jet aims for the courier's tires. They don't have the fuel to keep up the chase and it's easy to disable a courier. With Kobra, he's had the practice to know exactly where the vulnerabilities are under the courier's sleek black shell. He knows the Dracs are with them, circling and wheeling to face them, but Jet trusts Kobra to keep them busy while he shoots down the courier. When he sees the tell-tale spark from the rear that signals the jammer getting dusted he turns to the Dracs knowing that Kobra's glove will do the rest of the work on the courier. Kobra's hand flexes against the hand grip for an instant and Jet slips his hand up to punch the right key sequence for Kobra. Kobra used to do it himself, leaning out the Trans Am's window while Jet and Ghoul laid down cover for him, but on the bike with the two of them, it's easier for Kobra to let Jet key the sequence before he aims.

The courier shudders to a halt and Kobra veers around the downed transport so they're at the driver's side. Jet swings from the bike, slamming his booted foot into the door of the courier just like Kobra taught him. He feels the door shudder as the courier tries to open it, tries to escape from the prison they've effectively made of his transport, but Jet lets the courier crack the door open before slamming it shut with his foot again. The impact sends shocks through his leg, but he's braced for them. Kobra leaves the bike between him and the two Dracs as he jumps forward, leaving Jet to deal with the courier.

It could be a bug in their programming or something deliberately trained into them, but Dracs default to hand-to-hand when a courier is immobilized. Whichever it is, Jet loves it because it gives them the advantage. He wants to keep watching Kobra and the Dracs because he'll never tire of watching Kobra move, but he turns his back and taps the muzzle of the ray gun against the window.

The courier isn't the normal junior S/C/A/R/C/R/O/W but instead one of the Korse clone-brigade. Rumour has it the real Korse is still somewhere in Battery City, waiting to be unleashed, but Jet doesn't believe it looking at the pasty clone whose eyes are locked on the muzzle of his gun. It hasn't even tried to draw a personal weapon on him. He steps back.

"Get out slowly," he orders.

The clone hisses at him but it obeys him. As soon as the clone is fully disconnected from the transport, Jet shoots it. The hole left by the ray passing through its head smokes and Jet can faintly smell the scent of burnt flesh through the rebreather's filters. A lone howl behind him tells him that the Drac that's still alive has witnessed its failure to protect its courier. The clone's corpse is still twitching as he turns away and, just like always, it makes him feel slightly sick to see it. He knows that Kobra has already killed one of the Dracs, but he looks for its corpse, doubling checking that it's really down before turing his attention to the fight. Kobra lashes out at the Drac, boot impacting hard against the Drac's knee as Jet turns, and he can hear the crack of the joint breaking. The Drac stumbles, goes to one knee, and tries to lunge forward, its training telling it to kill the courier's attackers, to complete that little remaining scrap of its mission, even though the courier's body lays in the sand at Jet's feet. Kobra waits until it's hyper-extended in a lunge before grabbing its neck and using its own momentum to snap its neck.

Kobra pulls off his helmet, pushing sweaty hair out of his face, and Jet does the same. They're far enough into the zones that they'll have plenty of warning if a limeade cloud blows in. Kobra is grinning, the wide fierce grin that he wore in the fight at _Mega Moon's_ the first time Jet saw him, and just like then he feels interest flare. Kobra glances at the glove's chrono before he licks his lips and stalks forward. Kobra slinks toward him like the cats that prowl the edges of Battery City, and Jet Star holds still just enjoying the way Kobra moves so loose and free. It helps push away the memories of Kobra, white-lipped with each movement strung tight with pain, after their last major skirmish. Kobra doesn't stop, just presses firmly against Jet until he steps back, lets Kobra push him back against the ray-riddled rear panel of the courier transport. Even though he knows Kobra is shorter than him their height difference always takes Jet aback for a second when Kobra reaches up to cup the back of Jet's head in his palm. His hand pushes down until Jet bends just enough for Kobra to stretch to his toes so he can kiss him. Kobra's mouth is hot and insistent against his, his tongue pressing against the seam of Jet's lips until Jet yields. Kobra shoves his knee between Jet's thighs even as he reaches down to palm Jet's cock through his pants.

Jet pulls away as much as he can with Kobra holding him against the transport, "We can't."

Kobra raises one eyebrow as he rubs lazily over the hardening length of Jet's cock.

"There isn't time," Jet protests, even as his hips push up into Kobra's hand.

Kobra's hand fumbles with the catch on Jet's belt. "We'll be quick."

He doesn't give Jet time to reply before he's pulling him into another kiss, tongue thrusting fast and rough into his mouth, while he pulls open Jet's pants. Jet moans as he feels the warm leather of Kobra's glove against his bare skin. Kobra keeps kissing him, catching the sound of Jet's moans and gasps in his mouth, as his hand moves lower until he's circling the sensitive skin of Jet's cock.

"Fuck," Jet gaps, head thrown back as Kobra curls his fingers firmly around his cock.

It's just the right side of too dry and he arches into the firm grip of Kobra's fist. Kobra nips at his bottom lip - a sharp, short sting - as he swipes his thumb over the head of Jet's cock, slicking the leather of his glove with pre-come, and Jet groans at the combination of pleasure and pain. His head drops back against the top curve of the transport and he feels the hot dry wind against the skin of his neck. Kobra's mouth latches onto the newly exposed skin; licking and sucking at it with enough force that Jet knows he'll be hiding a purple bruise. He tilts his head to give Kobra better access and Kobra growls before sucking harder. His hand never stops stroking and squeezing.

"Come on motherbox," Kobra rasps against Jet's throat as Jet bucks into his grip.

Kobra bits down hard on the bruise he's sucked into Jet's neck just as Jet comes with a shout. Jet leans against the transport, breath coming in harsh gasps, as Kobra holds up his glove, the leather splattered with come. He holds Jet's gaze as he raises his hand to his mouth and slowly licks the come from his glove, tongue a shocking pink against the black leather.

"You want?" Jet starts to ask as Kobra lowers his hand but Kobra just shakes his head and licks his lips.

"Let's find out what was so important," Kobra says, with a husky voice and a smile that holds promises of later.


End file.
